


Cold Mirrors All Around

by pinkwithoutplot



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Kinks, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwithoutplot/pseuds/pinkwithoutplot
Summary: It's been years since Father Jensen Ackles, a priest at Sacred Heart, was last called upon to deal with a vampire, and yet he finds himself tormented by dreams of blood and sinful pleasures. When Jeffrey Dean Morgan - his mysterious and erstwhile father figure - asks for his help hunting down a fledgling blood-drinker, Jensen reluctantly agrees. But this particular hunt does not go as planned, and his encounter with the young vampire leads him down a dark path...and towards a shocking revelation about himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn_reversebang. I have taken outlandish liberties with...well, everything really. I am not Catholic, so I can only apologize if my ignorance shines through. But this is a homage to the vampire tales I loved growing up, and is unabashedly hammy in places ;) The title is taken from the lyrics of Vampires by The Meat Puppets.

“Father Ackles?”  
The priest's voice snapped Jensen out of his daze. He blinked and tried to focus on the trusting, dark eyes of the Sampson girl kneeling before him. He tipped the chalice towards her parted lips and watched her sip delicately.  
“The blood of Christ.”  
Jensen felt a little light headed as her mouth left the rim of the cup with a tiny sucking sound and she licked away the trace of a stain.  
“Amen.” The girl bobbed her head shyly, glossy black hair falling about her shoulders, and got to her feet.  
One by one, they came to receive a piece of unleavened bread from Father Collins before tilting their faces up toward Jensen for a mouthful of sacramental wine. Jensen watched each of them open up expectantly. The ruby-red liquid gleamed darkly, and Jensen stared into it, trying not to dwell on the vivid mental image of Christ, bleeding and broken on his cross. The wine was the blood. They were tasting him, his very life blood. Even after all this time, the notion made his tongue feel thick in his mouth and sent something cold side-winding over his skin.

Take this, all of you, and drink from it:  
this is the cup of my blood,  
the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.  
It will be shed for you and for all  
so that sins may be forgiven.  
Do this in memory of me.  
  
“Father Ackles,” the raven-haired priest said gently, resting his hand on Jensen's forearm. “Are you quite well? You seemed somewhat...distracted during the Eucharist.”  
“I'm sorry, Father,” Jensen said. “I felt a little faint. But I'm fine now. Thank you.”  
Father Collins nodded, his limpid, blue eyes illuminated with an affectionate smile.  
“Glad to hear it. But perhaps you are sickening for something. Try to get some rest before Vespers. I can manage here.”  
“I will, thank you, Father.”

Jensen made his way out of the sacristy and across the church yard to the rectory. The crooked little building was draughty and sparse, but it was comfortable enough. He noticed that Father Collins had left his tea cup and plate out on the kitchen table that morning and rolled his eyes as he cleared them away. He poured himself a glass of water and retrieved a dusty volume – a translation of Dissertations sur les apparitions des anges, des démons et des esprits by the French Benedictine, Calmet - from the bookcase in the living room before taking a seat at the table. He brushed a few crumbs off the tablecloth and set down the book, opening it, the pages naturally falling apart at the place where the spine was cracked:

DISSERTATION ON THE GHOSTS WHO RETURN TO EARTH BODILY, THE  
EXCOMMUNICATED, THE OUPIRES OR VAMPIRES, VROUCOLACAS, ETC.

Jensen knew the words on the page almost by heart, but on days such as this, it was comforting to peruse the familiar text. Although many of the accounts collated there seemed fabricated, Jensen had found much of use over countless readings, and the dry, pious musings of the dead monk helped keep his mind's eye from wandering back to the smooth, olive-skinned throat of the Sampson girl as she turned her face up towards him and parted her lips to receive the transubstantiated wine, the very blood -

A knock at the door startled him and Jensen was mortified to feel himself grown half-hard under the folds of his cassock. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath and walked carefully to the front door.  
“Who is it?” he said, buying himself a few more moments for composure.  
“It's me!”  
A gruff voice leaked through the wood, and Jensen crossed himself before swinging open the door.  
“Mr. Morgan. I would say it's good to see you, but under the circumstances...”  
“Save it, Father,” Jeffrey Morgan said with a wry smile. “You gonna invite me in or what?”  
Jensen stepped aside and the unkempt man strode into the kitchen. He pulled up a chair without waiting to be asked, his hat still firmly perched on his head, and swung his dusty boots up onto the table-top before reaching inside his coat and drawing out a hip-flask.  
“Make yourself at home,” Jensen said with a clenched jaw.  
Morgan grinned and held out the flask. Jensen hesitated for a heartbeat before snatching it and taking a deep swallow.  
“It's been a while. What have you got?” the priest said, handing back the flask.  
“Dead boy, about three day's ride out.”  
“And?”  
“Kid's family buried him last week and the grave's been desecrated. Body's gone.”  
“Grave robbers?”  
“No – I examined the site myself. He wasn't dug up. He dug himself out. And at least five more missing persons have been reported to the sheriff in recent weeks.”  
Jensen nodded and took another proffered swig of Morgan's liquor.  
“Any sightings?”  
“I've got a few leads. Shouldn't be too difficult to track. Boy's said to be awful tall with a mop of dark hair. Thought you might want first refusal as we're so...close to home. But like you say, it's been a while.”  
Jensen worried at his lower lip. It had been over two years since he'd last had to put down a vampire, but recently thoughts of blood and depravity had been haunting his dreams. It was almost as though he'd known in some part of his subconscious that this moment was approaching.  
“I'm in.”  
“Good, boy.” Morgan leant over and patted his cheek with a rough, dirty-nailed hand. “It really is good to see you. I'll be in touch.”  
With that he stood and made his way to the door, doffed the brim of his hat and swept out into the afternoon sun.

That night, Jensen lay awake and listened to the gentle snores coming from the next room. He and Father Collins had eaten a simple meal together before Jensen had made his excuses and retired to bed with his books. He'd read by candlelight until his temples ached with the effort, before reluctantly blowing out the flame and getting under the blankets. Sleep held no peace for Jensen. For weeks now, he'd been tormented nightly by visions and dreams which left him sweating and shaking, and – to his shame – often covered in his own cooling seed. He knew it was a sin. He'd tried everything, even tying his own wrists to the bedhead, but nothing helped.

Often his nocturnal reveries would start innocently enough: A member of his congregation would kneel before him to receive Communion. Lately it had been Ms. Sampson, or Cindy as Jensen had heard her father calling her. Father Collins would administer the consecrated bread, and then she would turn to him, but instead of retaining the thin consistency of the altar wine, the contents of the chalice would become viscous and opaque. It would run in rivulets down the Sampson girl's chin as he poured, and before he knew it, Jensen was overcome by the tang of blood, the heady and sacred vitality from the veins of his Lord and Savior, and he would be on his knees, lapping at the mess she'd made as it dripped down her neck. Their tongues would meet and she'd make the most incredible, hungry little moans.

Jensen had never felt the kiss of a woman in waking life. Orphaned at a young age, he'd been brought to the priests at the Church of the Sacred Heart by Jeffrey Morgan, and raised within the clergy. But in his dreams, every sensation felt just as real as the bed he lay in or the cool water he gulped on waking to wash away the phantom taste. Every pass of her tongue against the tingling skin of his lips, every sound breathed sweetly into his ear, the soft yield of her breasts in his hands all conspired to drive him to heights of physical pleasure his earthly body had no way of knowing. But the blood. There was always the blood, drawing him in and filling him with a sick dread all at once.

Perhaps it was simply a foreshadowing. It seemed portentous now that Jensen knew one of the undead had risen in the vicinity. Perhaps the monster was polluting his thoughts somehow. While Jensen and Morgan had killed numerous vampires over the years, they didn't know the full extent of the creatures' powers. It was not unthinkable that a nightwalker, realizing Jensen was a vessel of God, and a deadly hunter, would try to confuse and weaken him in this manner. Fill his mind with disgusting notions which left him tainted with doubt and self loathing. Consoled by this thought, Jensen let sleep pull him under.

It was three days before Morgan showed up at the rectory again. Jensen was sitting with Father Collins at the kitchen table, eating a lunch of soup and crackers when there was a harsh rap on the door.  
“I'll go,” said Father Collins, and rose.  
Jensen watched him cross the room and felt a rush of cool Spring air as Jeffrey bustled in.  
“Mr. Morgan,” said Father Collins, offering his hand. “It's been a long time.” There was a note of apprehension in his voice. Morgan shook his hand roughly and nodded. “I take it this is not merely a social call?”  
Morgan raised his eyebrows and Father Collins turned towards Jensen.  
“In that case, I shall leave you. I'll be in the stores if you need me.”  
“Thanks, Misha,” Jensen said with a small, placating smile. Father Collins' shoulders relaxed a little at the use of his Christian name. He left and Morgan drew up a chair.  
“I think he's close. A farmer two towns over reported several of his goats had their throats ripped out last night.”  
“Goats?” Jensen frowned. “Why would a vampire attack livestock?”  
Morgan shook his head and shrugged.  
“Maybe he was hungry and didn't have the opportunity to snatch a human. He's freshly out of the grave. Alone. Probably disoriented and acting on impulse. Doing what he has to to survive.”  
Jensen's stomach clenched with a pang of something like empathy, but he tamped it down quickly.  
“So what's the plan?”  
“I figure he must be holed up somewhere close to the farm. Those animals hadn't been dead long 'fore sun up. He can't have got far. There's not a lot of shelter, but there is a cemetery close by. I suggest we get back there as soon as we can – before nightfall – and look for any signs he's hiding out.”  
Jensen nodded.  
“Let me collect my things. I'll ask Misha to take the evening mass.”

A few hours later, Jensen and Jeffrey were scouring the cemetary for signs of disturbance. Dislodged tombstones, freshly turned earth, broken locks on mausoleum doors. On his back, Jensen carried a small canvas sack containing a bottle of holy water, a book of exorcism rites, some sprigs of hawthorn, a box of matches, some bulbs of wild garlic, a mallet and a stake made of iron. He wore a heavy silver crucifix around his neck. Resting heavily against the outside of his thigh, concealed beneath his coat, was a long-bladed knife. He could see Morgan striding between the plots a hundred yards or so away, a pickaxe slung over his shoulder.

Jensen did not remember the night he'd been coaxed from beneath his bed by the man who'd slain the thing that killed his parents. He remembered nothing of the long horse-back journey across Texas which had ended with him being taken in by the priests at Sacred Heart. But he remembered that the man came back for him time and time again. Morgan told him tales of the evils which lurked outside the hallowed walls of the church grounds. He told him how his parents had been slaughtered by creatures who should have stayed buried in the earth, but were somehow risen and far from God's love. He showed him books filled with tales of horror, which kept young Jensen awake for nights on end. As the years passed, he taught him other things too. How to ride a horse. How to throw a knife and shoot a pistol. Morgan taught him exorcism rites which the other priests paled at the mention of. He taught him lore and legend and conjecture and the few solid facts he knew about vampires. They made life-size bodies out of hessian stuffed with straw, and Jensen learned how to decapitate them and drive a stake through the place where the heart should be while blindfolded.

These days, Morgan only came for Jensen when he wanted him along for a hunt. Jensen suspected there were more like him scattered around the country. Other priests. Aside from his skills in weaponry and tracking, Father Ackles knew what he brought to the table. Peace. Hope. The possibility of redemption for the cursed creatures whose lives they ended. Though Morgan spoke little of the personal cost of leading a life such as his and seemed hardened – callous even, Jensen knew it took its toll. And he thought he saw, through the smoke and flames of each pyre, his own need to believe they had sent the recently departed soul to a better place, reflected in Morgan's eyes.

A short, high-pitched whistle caught his attention. Morgan was signalling him over. Jensen stalked carefully between the tombstones to the outer edge of the cemetary. The light was waning, and a cool breeze ruffled the russet leaves of a nearby dogwood tree.  
“What is it?” Jensen asked in a hushed voice.  
Morgan beckoned him closer to a patch of scrub which had been beaten down. As he approached, Jensen could see the broken stone door of a small mausoleum. Morgan touched his finger to his lips and looked up at the darkening sky before lifting his pickaxe off his shoulder. Jensen, carefully drew his blade. They crept forward, Jensen parting the foliage with his knife. Both men peered into the gloom of the tomb, hardly daring to breathe. A bird launched itself into flight behind them, the flapping of its wings startling Jensen, who whipped his head around towards the source of the noise. Then chaos descended. Jensen was vaguely aware of a massive impact against the full length of his body, then the ground was rushing up to meet him. He heard Morgan cry out, then a sickening thud as the older man was flung into unyielding stone. He swung blindly with his right arm before realizing his hand was empty. Rolling onto his stomach, pain surging through his torso, he groped for his blade.

That's when he saw him. Standing a few feet away, watching him. The vampire. He was slightly older than Jensen had pictured, possibly early twenties when he'd died, though Morgan hadn't exaggerated about his height. He was towering, dressed in clothes too short for his long limbs. Powerfully built, the monster stood with his knees bent, ready to flee. Jensen's gaze flicked up to his face. The creature was...beautiful: A thatch of dark hair, strong jaw and slanted eyes which shone in the half-light, glinting with myriad colors like fire opals. Then he was off and running, and Jensen found himself gasping for air. The landing had knocked the wind was knocked out of him, but once he managed to fill his lungs again, Jensen realized Morgan was quiet. He crawled over to the hunter and saw a patch of something sticky and dark, snaking out from under his head and soaking into the earth below. He tried to ignore the queasy compulsion to taste it.  
“Mr. Morgan? Jeffrey?”  
Jensen pressed two fingers to his neck and was relieved to feel the pulse beating strong there. He gently shook the older man's shoulder and was rewarded with a groan.  
“Jeffrey? Can you hear me?”  
Morgan opened his eyes, turned his head to one side and vomited.  
Jensen pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the older man's mouth, the sour smell of whiskey and bile reaching him as he did so and turning his own stomach.  
“Mr. Morgan? Can you sit up?”  
Morgan struggled into a sitting position and fixed Jensen with a bleary-eyed glare.  
“You get him?”  
Jensen lowered his eyes and shook his head tightly.  
“He was too fast. And strong. Did you see him?”  
“Not really,” Morgan admitted. “Which way'd he go?”  
Jensen pointed and staggered to his feet before helping the older man out. Morgan stumbled and squeezed his eyes shut, clearly in a great deal of pain.  
“Look, Mr. Morgan, I don't think we can...you're not well. You may be concussed. Let's find somewhere you can rest. We'll pick up the trail tomorrow. He can't travel in the daylight.”  
Morgan looked like he was about to protest when another wave of nausea overcame him.  
“OK,” he said quietly. “But come sun-up, Jensen, we find that bastard and put him down for good.”

It was three more days before Jensen finally returned to Sacred Heart. Morgan wasn't fit to continue the chase and the priest worried that the hay barn they'd been given shelter in by the farmer was not sanitary for his wounds. So they made their way back to the church where the hunter could receive proper care from a physician. The ride home was silent and tense, and Jensen knew Morgan was blaming himself for letting the vampire get away.

Father Collins was reading by the fire when he let himself into the rectory.  
“I was worried.”  
“I'm sorry. We were...delayed.”  
“And the Sampson girl has been pining for you. Although she rallied when she saw Father Kelly holding the chalice this afternoon.”  
Jensen smiled in spite of himself and arched an eyebrow. Misha chuckled.  
“Where's Mr. Morgan?”  
“With the physician.”  
“Nothing serious I hope?”  
“He'll live.”  
“And you? You look exhausted. What happened?”  
Jensen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
“We were overpowered. He...it got away.”  
Father Collins nodded and ran his tongue over his top lip.  
“Are we in danger?”  
Jensen was silent for a long moment, and finally he said,  
“I'll finish it.”

At 4am, Jensen was still staring at the watermarks on the ceiling above his head, visible in the moonlight which streamed brightly through his window. Sighing, he swung his legs out of bed and tip-toed across the floorboards of his bedroom and down the stairs, lest he should wake Misha. He went into the kitchen and ran himself a glass of icy cold water from the tap. He couldn't have said what gave him the uneasy certainty that someone was watching him, or why he opened the front door and stepped out into the chill night air. But a cursory glance around the churchyard revealed him. The vampire was sitting on a tombstone, watching the house. Jensen froze and was about to return inside for a weapon, when the creature spoke.  
“It's OK. I won't hurt you.”  
Jensen scoffed.  
“You followed us.”  
The monster nodded and stood, made a few tentative steps towards Jensen. Jensen stood his ground.  
“But why? You know we were hunting you.”  
Another slight nod.  
“The other man,” the vampire said. “Is he alive?”  
“Yes,” Jensen said. “No thanks to you.”  
“I'm sorry,” the vampire said, sounding for all the world like a scared young man instead of the blood-sucking fiend Jensen knew him to be. “I didn't mean to hurt anyone.” He had a rich, rounded voice and Jensen found himself warming to it against his better judgment.  
“You didn't answer my question. Why are you here?”  
The creature smiled at that, revealing strong white teeth and deep dimples in his cheeks. Strangely, it was the most amiable smile Jensen had ever seen.  
“Honestly? I'm not sure.”  
Jensen swallowed.  
“You know what you are? You know you're dangerous and I need to stop you?”  
“I haven't...bitten anyone. Only animals. I swear it.”  
“What about the missing folk from back in your hometown?”  
“It wasn't me. I wouldn't do that.”  
“But you will,” Jensen said, shaken to hear the sadness heavy in his own voice. Although he was coiled and ready to fight, this was the longest conversation he'd ever had with such a creature, and curiosity was overriding his fear. “How did it happen?”  
The vampire looked down and scuffed his foot in the grass. That's when Jensen realized he was barefoot. The action was guileless, touching even.  
“There was a girl. She was with the carnival. They were in town for a few days. She seemed nice. We didn't...it was nothing improper. I held her hand some and we talked. But then, on the day they were packing up to leave, she seemed to change. It was as if she was possessed. She pressed me up against the side of a wagon with the strength of ten men, leant in and kissed me, and so help me, Father I wanted it. But then she started snapping at me - hungrily, like a wild animal.”  
Jensen shifted uncomfortably.  
“After that, it's all a little hazy. There was intense pleasure, no pain to my memory. But when I came back to myself, she was gone and something was wrong with me. I got sick. Took to my bed and was dead within the fortnight. Only I wasn't...not really. I remember my family. Mama and my sister crying. My daddy and brother trying to comfort them. Then I was under the earth, cold and damp, knowing I had to get out. So I started digging. That casket tore my fingers to bloody ribbons – but look.” He held up long, elegant hands for Jensen's inspection. “Healed. A miracle, Father,” he said bitterly. “I still feel pain though. And the thirst. Never known anything like it and it's constant. This must be how marooned sailors feel – nothing but seawater to drink - just before the madness sucks them under.”  
Jensen thought back to the chalice. The feel of warm, slick blood in his dreaming mouth. He'd sliced and run through dozens of these creatures in his short life, but this one was different. There was too much humanity left in him.  
“Help me, Father,” he said.  
“What's your name?” Jensen's voice cracked on the last word and he knew he was lost.  
“Jared. My name is Jared.”

The crypt under Sacred Heart was cold and dank. There were slabs sunk into the flagstone floor, marking the places where the bones of long-dead priests lay.  
“No one comes down here anymore. You'll be safe here during the daylight hours. Do you need anything?” Jensen asked warily.  
Jared laughed mirthlessly at that.  
“No. Nothing.”  
“Good then. And just remember. If you are tempted to try anything, anything at all, I'll put you down so fast you'll be burning in Hell before you finish the thought.”  
“I don't doubt it,” Jared said with a quirk of his lips, something like genuine amusement playing in his eyes which seemed to glow amber in the candlelight. “Goodnight, Father.”  
“Good morning,” Jensen corrected, reigning in the impulse to return the vampire's half-smile.

After Matins, Father Ackles pored over his books on vampire lore for an hour or so, then he went to visit Morgan, who was staying with young Father Kelly's family while he recuperated, and asked him about the traveling fair.  
“Don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence?”  
Morgan raised his eyebrows.  
“I suppose. How'd you know it was in town when the kid got turned?”  
“Why didn't you know?” Jensen fired back. “Weren't there bills posted all over when you were there?”  
“Answer the question, Father.”  
Morgan's dark eyes glittered with suspicion and Jensen hesitated.  
“He...he followed us. I spoke with him last night.”  
“You what? He was here?”  
Jensen nodded.  
“Well, I hope you put him down? Where's the body? Did you burn it to be sure?”  
Jensen licked his lips and looked away.  
“Please tell me he didn't get away again?”  
Morgan made to get up, but Jensen pressed him back against the pillow and sighed.  
“He's wily. But I don't think he wants to kill. He's been living on animals.”  
“Jensen.” Morgan's eyes narrowed. “I don't give a damn what he told you. It's not about what he wants. He's a predator and a killer, driven by the need for warm blood. He's undead. Whatever he was in life, that's gone. He's a fledgling but he's gonna get colder and hungrier and more devious with each passing night. You know all this.”  
“I do.”  
“So why do I feel like you want him spared?”  
Jensen bowed his head.  
“It's just...it's been a while. It's hard, that's all.”  
Morgan threw back the coverlet.  
“Help me find my boots. We'll find him tonight.”  
“No!” It came out a little more desperate than Jensen meant. “I can do it. You need rest and once you're on your feet you'll need to find that carnival.”  
Morgan looked uneasy, but he finally relented.  
“Just remember what I told you, boy. However human he seems now, whatever reservations you have, make no mistake. His true nature will show itself eventually, and you need to put him down.”  
Jensen could have sworn there were tears shining in the older man's eyes as he spoke.

On the short walk back to the church, Jensen saw a familiar figure walking towards him. Cindy Sampson. Although he tried not to notice, Jensen could have sworn the sway of her hips became more pronounced as she met his eyes, and gave him a dazzling smile.  
“Afternoon, Father,” she said. “Beautiful day.”  
She came to a halt in front of him, standing a little too close.  
“Ms. Sampson,” Jensen bobbed his head. “It is indeed.”  
She bit her lip and let her brow furrow prettily.  
“You look anxious, Father. Is there anything I can do for you?”  
Cindy tossed back her molasses-dark hair, and Jensen let his gaze fall to where her pulse was flitting in her throat. He felt his own pick up as an overwhelming desire to put his mouth there and bite down hard washed over him. He swallowed thickly.  
“N...no, he stuttered. “I'm fine. Just pressed for time.”  
“Oh,” Cindy said, the amusement clear in her voice. “Then I shall let you go. Good day, Father.”  
Jensen didn't trust himself to speak again, so he dipped his head and hurried for Sacred Heart.

“Father?” Jared blinked, and rubbed his bleary eyes, looking jarringly human. “Has the sun set?”  
“Yes,” Jensen said. “You can come out now.”  
“To be honest, I expected to wake to you plunging a stake through my heart.”  
“I thought about it.”  
Jared nodded thoughtfully.  
“But you didn't. Why is that, Father?”  
“I don't know,” Jensen admitted. “I honestly don't. Are you...hungry?”  
“Yes,” Jared said, sounding strained. “Your smell...it's -”  
“Sorry,” Jensen said, stepping back. “I'm not sure what to -”  
“It's fine. I'll go out. There are birds. Rats. I'll find something to feed on.”  
“Good then.” Jensen shifted his weight awkwardly, watching the vampires nostrils flare very slightly. “Listen, I sent the other hunter after the traveling fair, after the one who made you. He's still laid up, but he'll be heading out in a day or two. If you want to get moving, well, you should get a decent head start. I won't come looking for you.”  
Jared smiled.  
“That's awful decent of you, but there's nothing out there for me. I can't ever go home. Where would I go?”  
Jensen ran a hand through his hair.  
“I...I don't know what to say. You can't stay here, Jared.”  
“I know,” the vampire said sadly. “I know. And thank you, Father. You are a merciful man, though perhaps it would have been better for us both were you not.”  
Jensen weighed the truth of that as he watched the vampire leave the crypt.

For days, Jensen tried to keep his mind on his work while knowing Jared was still near. He wasn't sure where he was hiding from the sun, but at night he felt eyes on him. Saw long shadows in the churchyard and behind trees. Morgan rode out after the fair, although he vowed to return and see to it that Jared was destroyed if he hadn't received word that Jensen had found him. At night, Jensen dreamt of blood and the soft swell of Cindy Sampson's breast. He dreamt of Father Collins, how his big, wet eyes would go wide with shock if he held him down, smeared his lips with coagulating blood and licked it from his gasping mouth. He dreamt of Christ on the cross, and of Jared. Mostly of Jared. He dreamt of the boy sinking his fangs into the meat of his shoulder and he woke, hard and sweating, hot licks of shame under his skin and plagued by the uneasy feeling that he'd woken Misha with his wanton moans.

Jensen was about to finish the evening's session. He was relieved the Sampson girl hadn't been to the confessional today while the lurid images from his dreams were still so fresh in his mind. He heard no approach and was startled by the voice so close in the quiet intimacy of the booth.  
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two months since my last confession.”  
Jensen knew the hushed, easy drawl immediately. His pulse picked up and his mouth dried up.  
“You can't be...” he whispered, “this is a holy place.”  
“And yet, here I am,” Jared said, low and sweet. “Is not the churchyard consecrated ground? The crypt? What difference does a fancy roof and some incense make? Either He doesn't see or doesn't care.”  
Jensen blanched at the vampire's casual blasphemy.  
“What are you doing here?” he hissed.  
“I needed to see you. Surely you wouldn't turn away a repentant sinner? Will you hear my confession, Father?”  
Jensen exhaled. His blood sounded thunderous in his own ears, and he knew Jared could hear it too.  
“Go on,” he said quietly.  
“Um, well...let's start with thievery. These clothes are stolen. I took them from a scarecrow. And murder. I killed those innocent goats.”  
“Don't mock me, Jared.”  
The vampire sighed.  
“Very well. Impure thoughts, Father.”  
Jensen thought back to Morgan's words and wondered if there was any hope of redemption for the boy this creature had been, or whether the corruption already ran too deep. He cleared his throat.  
“Go on.” It was little more than a whisper.  
“I am tempted by the sins of Sodom.”  
Jensen's mouth dried up and he was horrified to feel his cock twitch at the thought of the vampire on his hands and knees. Presenting himself.  
“And that's not even the worst of it. I can hear your heart pounding. I can smell the blood coursing through your veins. And I thirst for it. I walk the parameter at night and hear you in your room. I hear you toss and turn. I smell your sweat, your skin. Your seed.”  
Jensen's skin flushed all over. His collar seemed too tight, the confines of the box suddenly airless and stifling.  
“I tear at the throats of rats and birds, and I imagine my teeth sinking into your flesh as easy as a warm knife through butter. Tasting you. Biting your mouth like a ripe fruit. Burying my flesh in your flesh completely. And it's utter torment. Do you feel me too, Father? Does some part of you long for it? Is that what stayed your hand that night? Is that why you won't end it?”  
Jensen shuddered and let his eyes fall shut. He could feel Jared's gaze, heavy upon him, through the screen.  
“Stop. Just...stop.” It was almost a moan.  
“I know what I am. I know there is no forgiveness for me. So, God help me, I ask myself, what is to stop me taking you right now, if I am already damned?”  
Jensen swallowed hard, throat clicking, and licked his parched lips. He put his hand up, laid his palm against the latticework. He felt like the booth, the very ground beneath him, was tilting.  
“Do it,” he whispered finally.  
But when he opened his eyes, Jared was gone.

That night, Jensen deliberately laid hands on himself for the first time in his life. Trembling, he waited until light snores emanated from Father Collins' room, before letting his fingers stray inside the buttoned front of his underwear. He flinched when his fingers found the leaking tip of cock, half expecting some kind of instant retribution for this sin. When it didn't come, he pictured Jared, stripped of his ill-fitting clothes, a smear of blood – Jensen's blood – on his lips. He pictured Jared shoving him down hard and covering him with his long, lean body, the slide of skin on skin. It only took a few strokes before he was shooting long, milky spurts onto his own belly and gasping as he tried not to cry out. Afterwards, he felt sick with guilt and drained. He left the mess soaking uncomfortably through to his skin as a kind of penance, and tried to sleep.

“You look terrible,” said Misha as they folded vestments together.  
“Thanks.”  
“I'm serious. Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me.”  
“I know. Thanks, Misha. But really, I'm fine. Just been having nightmares recently. I'm sure it's just a phase. Morgan coming back dredged up some bad memories is all.”  
“I'll pray for you,” Father Collins said earnestly, his massive eyes brimming with concern and more knowing than Jensen was prepared to admit.  
Jensen smiled at the other priest but it didn't reach his eyes.

The first crack of leather on the skin of his back made him cry out, and he jammed his knuckles into his mouth to keep his voice from ringing around the stone walls of the crypt. He had to force himself to strike again, hesitating, his hand shaking as it gripped the handle of the whip before he swung the lash down as hard as he could. The snap ricocheted, too loud in the gloom. White hot pain blazed from the place where his skin was striped with deep red welts, and made him flushed from head to toe. It was a strange kind of agony, so sharp and clean and bright that he felt almost euphoric from it. He slashed at his back again and again, until he felt his own blood trickling down his back, saw it wet and dark on the leather thongs of the lash. The hand-warmed penny smell of it was thick in the air of the crypt. There were tears running down his face. He tasted the salt of them and of his sweat as his body quaked and throbbed.

Jensen tried to think about Christ, about how he'd suffered and about how he'd died for sinners like him. How each time Jensen thought about that creature, touched himself, gave in to the darkness inside him, it was like spitting on the abused flesh of his savior.  
“Forgive me,” Jensen whispered. “Forgive me.”  
It took a couple of seconds for him to realize his naked body was pinned against the wall as his senses were over-saturated, every inch of skin singing and thrumming. But then Jared spoke close into his ear.  
“I can't...I can't do this anymore. Why are you doing this to me? You're torturing me. Is this what you want? Is it?”  
“Jared!” Jensen sucked in a harsh breath at the stinging pain when the the fabric of Jared's shirt caught on the lacerated skin.  
“I could smell you from a mile away. My God, you look...you look like an angel.”  
Jensen huffed out a bitter laugh which dissolved into a moan as Jared's tongue traced one of the cuts on his shoulder. His mouth was cool and wet against his fever-hot flesh.  
“I'm so very far from His grace. I'm lost. And you...you...are a demon. An incubus. You are bound for eternal damnation and you would take me with you.”  
“But you'd come willingly,” Jared breathed against his neck. “Into the very fires of Hell.”  
Jensen felt the urgent press of the creature's cock against the back of his thigh. His own filled and pulsed and the touch of that too-cold tongue against the lobe of his ear was almost enough to make him spill his load on the flagstones.  
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes. God help me, I'd follow you. So do it. What are you waiting for? Ruin me.”  
His heart was hammering against his ribs, and when he felt needle-sharp teeth scratch at the tender meat of his shoulder, he thought it might beat clear out of his chest.  
“Ssshhh,” Jared soothed. “I'll make it good. So very good.” And with that he tilted his head and let his fangs puncture the vulnerable flesh of Jensen's throat.

There was no pain, just an odd, dragging sensation deep in his veins. His limbs felt heavy as his blood was pulled to the heated point where Jared's mouth worked on him, suckling and lapping. He felt the vampire reach down between them and pull his swollen length from the ragged pants he wore, letting it slide in between his naked buttocks, the way slicked where it was already leaking and by Jensen's blood and sweat. Jared gave a long groan which Jensen felt rumble in his own skull, and took his mouth away from his neck. The next thing Jensen knew, he was bringing his face around by the chin, twisting his head so that their mouths could meet. It was the first kiss of his life, and more than Jensen could have imagined, even in his most vivid dreams. The plush cushion of his mouth, the slippery, teasing presence of the other man's tongue stroking his, smearing his own blood all over his teeth with moist little sounds. It was blindingly arousing. Jensen sucked the taste of himself off Jared's cold lips. Though the vampire hadn't taken all that much, Jensen was a little dizzy from blood loss and from the chaos of new sensations enveloping him, and he found himself powerless to resist when the weeping head of Jared's cock nudged at his opening and started to press in. The vampire was alarmingly large, but Jensen was weak and dazed, and his body had no choice but to open to the intrusion as Jared sank his teeth into him again.

Jensen whimpered as he felt every thick, insistent inch of Jared filling him up while he drank from his throat. His whole body was alight with pain and pleasure so intense that he could no longer tell them apart, and when Jared pulled out and drove his hips home again, Jensen almost lost his mind. He'd never even been touched by another person before tonight, and now he was being plowed open in long, bruising strokes which made him ache. The realization of what they were doing, the mere thought of this creature inside him – fucking and drinking him in all at once – was too much to comprehend, and he found himself shuddering and crying out, his hips stuttering as he pumped his release all over the wall and floor. Jared withdrew his teeth and sped up the churn of his pelvis as he reached around and gathered up the fluid on his fingers and brought them to his mouth to taste, before licking the ammonia and iron tang into Jensen's own mouth. Jared's clever tongue probed his mouth and then he drew back with a question in his eyes before pushing his fingers inside. His eyes narrowed and his hips stilled as he briefly examined the lash marks on Jensen's back before the urge to finish became too much and he resumed fucking into the priest with brutal thrusts. Jensen slumped against the wall, letting Jared's hips shunt him back and forth until his rhythm faltered and Jensen knew he was filling him up with his seed.

After a short while, Jared started to soften and he slipped out gently, leaving Jensen feeling empty and bereft. They both went to their knees, unmindful of the discomfort and leaned against each other, Jensen panting and gasping for air, feeling filthy and loose and well used. He put his hand flat against Jared's chest and was both repulsed and fascinated by the lack of a heartbeat.  
Jared watched him cautiously, then finally said,  
“I know. Not bad. For a dead man.”  
He laughed nervously and Jensen had to look away – the way his wholesome smile shone through the congealed blood on his chin twisting something up deep in his guts. He felt one of Jared's long fingers curl lightly under his chin.  
“Did I hurt you?” the vampire asked quietly.  
Jensen had no answer for that.  
“Your back,” Jared said. “It's healing already.”  
“What?”  
Jensen's head snapped up and tried to look over his should at the wounds. They were both streaked with blood and come and Jensen's sweat so it was hard to tell, but Jensen thought he could see where the edges of the wounds were starting to bind.  
“And your teeth. I felt...something too sharp. Did you notice anything...different?”  
“No,” Jensen said, shaking his head. “You must be mistaken.”  
Jared brought his hand up and cupped Jensen's face.  
“May I?”  
Jensen wasn't sure what he was asking permission for, but with the shame of what they'd just done lying heavy in his stomach he found himself nodding. Jared traced his thumb – sticky with gore – around Jensen's lips before pressing it inside and levering his top and bottom teeth apart. He pushed it gently against the gum above the upper right canine and Jensen felt something hard there, being unsheathed.  
“I don't know what to tell you, Father. You have a set of fangs. They're small but...”  
“No!” Jensen cried, getting to his feet and stumbling as his vision swam. “No! I didn't mean – I didn't want...What did you - ? Did you do this? Make me like you?”  
“No!” Jared said, getting to his feet and crowding the priest against the wall. “I don't think so. I can't have...you didn't drink from me. You'd have to drink my blood, right?”  
“But I – I don't know. Maybe it can be passed on...in other ways.”  
“That quickly? It took days for me to transform after the girl bit me. I mean, I died – slow and painful. Don't you have to be...reborn somehow? Do you usually heal this fast?”  
Jensen's hands stroked distractedly through his disheveled hair.  
“I don't know.”  
“But I think you already...I mean you hunt vampires, right? Maybe you got scratched or bitten before? Perhaps not enough to turn you fully? I mean is that possible?”  
“I don't know,” Jensen repeated dumbly.  
“But you –”  
“I don't know!” Jensen repeated, panic raising his voice and making it shrill. “I kill vampires. Burn the bodies and say a prayer for their immortal souls. That's it. Sunlight. Decapitation. Piercing the heart. Those are the only three things I know for sure. Everything else is just hearsay. I've never had the chance to experiment.”  
“Well, why don't you try now?”  
“What?” Jensen's green eyes were wide.  
“You have a willing volunteer. If there's a chance of furthering your knowledge. Maybe even finding a cure...”  
It dawned on Jensen what the vampire meant, and he felt a flutter of excitement.  
“Really?”  
Jared nodded.  
“OK – wait here.”  
Jensen stood and gingerly put on his discarded cassock. He snuck quietly back to his room and retrieved the bag he took hunting before returning to the crypt.

Jared wrinkled his nose at the smell of the crushed garlic flower, but it had no affect upon him. Neither did hawthorn, a silver cross or holy water. His reflection appeared in a mirror-glass. They already knew he could walk on consecrated earth, and cross thresholds without invitation. Finally, Jensen opened his book of exorcism rites and read aloud, but Jared simply watched him with hooded eyes.  
He smiled sadly.  
“It seems I am a lost cause.”  
Jensen sighed .  
“When I said I'd take you with me...I didn't mean it. I want you. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life. But I would sooner die than ask you to become something you despise. If I did this to you -”  
Jensen put his finger to Jared's lips to shush him and stared at the miserable creature for a long time. Finally he said,  
“The truth is, I wasn't entirely honest with you. There's been something...different about me for a while now. Perhaps it happened on a hunt as you say. Perhaps it's always been there. I'm not sure.”  
Jared nodded and licked absently at the crust of russet blood on his upper lip.  
“I see. So what now?”  
Jensen surveyed the spatters of crimson and semen on the floor, wall and all over Jared's naked skin. His own garment was stiff with drying blood and sweat.  
“There's a well in the churchyard. We should clean up this mess.”  
Jensen stood to pack up his things, swooning a little and wishing he could wash the indelible stain on his soul away with something as simple as well-water.

The next few weeks saw Father Ackles leading a double life. By day he slept as often as he could, stealing cat-naps while Father Collins became increasingly worried. He ordered new books on the occult, tried to reach out to other hunters and sent for news on the progress of the carnival. By night he met Jared in the crypt or in the neighboring fields, brought him fresh clothes and small comforts such as a brush to untangle his unruly hair. He let the vampire open his veins and take what he needed. Let him manhandle him up against walls and trees or pull him to the chill earth and ravish him with teeth and fingers and tongue and cock. They talked until the sky began to lighten, when Jared would flee for refuge from the daylight or until Jensen had to slip back into the rectory before Misha awoke. Jared told Jensen about his childhood and about being the middle child in a loving family. Jensen explained how Morgan was the closest thing he had to a relative as far as he knew, and about the priests who raised him, most of whom had since passed on. They pondered whether it was worse to have never known the feel of a mother's arms, or to have known it and miss it. Jensen told Jared about life in the church, and Jared taught Jensen all he knew of farming. It turned out they both loved to horseback ride. They talked about places they'd heard of but never in their wildest dreams thought they'd get a chance to see. On one such night, Jensen suddenly realized that despite sharing life stories, he had never told the vampire his name.  
“Goodnight, Father,” Jared said, waiting for the corrective 'good morning', which was now customary between them.  
“Jensen.”  
“Pardon me?”  
“Jensen. My name is Jensen.”

Jensen was setting out votive candles when he received the telegram from Morgan, informing him that he'd caught up with the carnival and taken down a small coven of vampires living amongst the traveling show. As he had not been notified of Jared's destruction, he was heading back to Sacred Heart to ensure it was taken care of.

Jared was waiting for him in a nearby orchard that night. They had come to realize the more the vampire drank from Jensen, the further entwined they became somehow. Sometimes they would find themselves hearing snippets and fragments of each other's thoughts though neither had spoken.  
“He's coming for me, isn't he?” Jared asked as Jensen approached.  
Jensen nodded.  
“And what would you have me do?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Should I run? Or stay and meet my fate? You must admit this is a strange purgatory you find yourself in. You barely sleep, you feel far from your God, guilt gnawing at you every minute of every day. Maybe it's not too late for you. You lived as a holy man before, so why not again? Perhaps my death will bring you some kind of peace? Absolution.”  
The words hit Jensen like a punch to the gut, and he realized that the idea of life without Jared was now more abhorrent to him than that of being in love with a creature of the night. Of being a pariah, tainted.  
“How can you say that? After the things we've...I've condemned my immortal soul for you. I think I knew the first moment I saw you stood in that churchyard that I was undone, that whatever is in you is in me too. I thought I was a servant of God, but I see now that I was always a monster – hiding in plain sight. Every day of my life I have struggled, and I'm tired of fighting what I am. So you ask me what I would have you do. I would have you run. I would have you live – by any means. And I would have you take me with you.”  
Jared stood for a moment, tears standing out in those beautiful eyes which shone with unnatural light. Then he pulled the shorter man in to a fierce embrace, tracing the plush curves of his lips with his tongue and nipping at his jaw, before pulling back to plant featherlight kisses on the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose.  
“Thank you,” he whispered. “my savior.”

Jensen told Misha he was riding out to meet to Morgan. He did not tell him that he had no intention of returning, but Father Collins was nobody's fool. The blue-eyed priest stiffened a little when Jensen put his arms around him, but soon relaxed against him. To his credit, he didn't ask any difficult questions, just straightened the brim of Jensen's hat and let his thumb brush Jensen's cheek on the retreat.  
“I'll see you later,” he said, and though both men knew it was a lie, Jensen smiled and touched his brim before he walked out of the kitchen door.

He'd been in bars before. On hunts with Morgan, he'd always reasoned that in the scheme of things, God would forgive him the odd glass of whiskey after ridding the world of another evil blood-drinker. Now he knew God wanted nothing to do with him.

Morgan was sat alone in the far corner of the bar, nursing a bottle. He didn't bother to look up when Jensen reached the table.  
“Sit down, Father.”  
“Jensen. It's just Jensen now.”  
Morgan did look up then. He took in Jensen's grubby riding breeches and heavy overcoat, and shoved a chair out for him to sit in with his foot. He signaled the barman to bring another cloudy glass and poured Jensen three fingers of liquor.  
“You wanna tell me what this is all about?”  
“I was actually thinking you could start,” Jensen said, taking a slug of whiskey.  
“What're you talking about?”  
Jensen leant forward in his chair and lowered his voice.  
“Did you always know? Was that the plan? Keep an eye on me until the symptoms started to manifest then cut my head off? Or have you been studying me this whole time? Waiting?”  
Morgan scrubbed a hand over his salt-and-pepper- stubble. He smelt like horses and ripe sweat.  
“What happened?  
“I might ask you the same thing. The night you took me from my parents. Did one of them get me?”  
Morgan sighed.  
“I never wanted you to find out. You always seemed...fine. I didn't think anyone would have to know.”  
“So I did get bitten?”  
“Not exactly.”  
“Well then how exactly?”  
Morgan finished up his glass and poured another.  
“Me and your daddy went back a long way. Before you were born. We used to hunt together – not like you and me. Animals. We used to sell pelts and hides. One night, we were camped out. We'd been tracking a herd of bison and were just bedding down when we were attacked. We didn't know anything about vampires back then. Just thought someone'd gotten the jump on us – that we were being robbed. I fired my gun, but it seemed to make no odds. The thing just kept on coming. The bastard was bleeding in your daddy's mouth by the time I ran him through with my knife. You know how it goes from there. Your pa got sick. I got him back to your mother, but he died not long after. I said my goodbyes and that's when I started hunting a lot more than bison.”  
Jensen realized his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.  
“Few years later, a spate of disappearances led me back to your parents' town. By that time, I'd seen enough to know there was a good chance it was your pa come back. What I hadn't reckoned on was your ma. She was completely beguiled by him. They'd been living together the whole time – carrying on like she hadn't watched him put in the ground. I tried to reason with her, but she wasn't going to let me put him to rest. So...”  
“You killed her? A human?”  
Jensen's voice came out louder than he intended Morgan looked around furtively.  
“I never meant to. It was self-defense! She was pointing a goddamn rifle at my head.”  
Jensen felt numb.  
“What about me?”  
“I didn't know about you until after I'd...I heard you crying. You seemed normal. Just a baby. No signs of anything unnatural so I took you with me. I knew I couldn't bring up a kid living like I do, so I put a decent distance between us and that place and left you with the priests. Figured if anything...evil had been passed into you, it would get flushed out that way.”  
Jensen stared at Morgan in disbelief.  
“My father was a vampire?”  
Morgan nodded.  
Jensen took another hit of liquor and tried to process what the hunter was telling him.  
“I'm half vampire?”  
“I'm not sure how it works. In theory – yeah. But I mean, as far as we know they turn people with their blood, right? Like an infection? Which brings me back to my original question. What exactly tipped you off?”  
Jensen looked around to make sure no one was watching before he lifted his upper lip with his index finger and pressed the tiny fang out of his gum.  
Morgan gasped and flinched back in horror.  
“How long?”  
“A few weeks.”  
“And have you...?”  
“Fed? No. But I think about it day and night. I crave blood.”  
“Good God!”  
“It seems He has forsaken me. Indeed, it appears I was never part of His plan.”  
Morgan looked distraught.  
“I never thought...had I known -”  
“You'd have killed me and buried with me my mother?”  
Morgan shook his head.  
“Whatever you may think, I have always thought of you with fondness. You are like a son to me.”  
“But still, you will do what you must.”  
Morgan looked up at the ceiling.  
“What happened with the boy? You finish him?”  
Jensen kept his silence, and Morgan shook his head incredulously.  
“What does he have over you? Don't tell me you've been...duped like your mother.”  
The implication was clear and Jensen felt a blush work its way up his neck.  
“He's not killer.”  
“He tell you that?”  
“I believe him.”  
“Like your daddy wasn't a killer? They can seduce people, Jensen. It's what they do!”  
“Please, Jeffrey. If you ever loved me, please. Just give me this one chance. If we can't find a way, if we put a foot wrong, you can take us. We won't resist.”  
“You know I can't do that in good conscience.”  
Jensen banged a fist on the table, drawing a few glances from other patrons.  
“Something, Jeffrey. Anything. I implore you. You say I am like a son to you. Well, you took my family and gave me a life I never chose, but you're still the nearest thing I have to a father. Is there nothing you can do? You owe me something.”  
Morgan cleared his throat and blinked rapidly. He was quiet for a long time, and Jensen had all but given up when he finally said,  
“A head start. One month. The next full moon, I'm coming after you. If there's a trail to find, I'll find it. So make damn sure there isn't.”  
Jensen covered the older man's hand with his own.  
“Thank you.”  
“Get out of here. And it pains me to say, son, but I pray we don't meet again,”  
Jensen stood and left without looking back, his green eyes glazed with unshed tears.

The bed squeaked and groaned beneath them as Jared spread his knees a little further apart and lowered himself onto Jensen's engorged cock. Jensen was used feeling the cool, blunt pressure at his hole, the sting of Jared forcing him open, the dull, moreish ache of being totally filled, but this rippling tightness around him was a completely new sensation.  
“Oh fuck!” Jared groaned as he impaled himself little by little. “Oh God!”  
Jensen had grown accustomed to the dirty things which spilled from Jared's lips at times such as this – a liturgy of an entirely new kind.  
“That's it, Jared. So good. You feel so good.”  
Jensen let his fangs descend and tore at his own wrist, bringing it to his lover's lips. Jared latched on immediately and gulped at the hot, salty trickle, his body going lax and pliant. Jensen took advantage of the anodyne effect of his blood on the vampire and start to hunch his hips up, bouncing the larger man in his lap and feeling his throbbing cock slip wetly in and out of his clutching hole. Jared's body temperature was always lower than Jensen's making him seem cold, but the friction they were eliciting created a delicious warmth.

The sounds of flesh on flesh, of sucking, soft pants and the creaking mattress springs filled the room. Jensen tried hard to listen beyond them, to the night beyond the window, to buy himself a little more time. Although his stamina was improving, a lifetime of abstinence and Jared's youthful enthusiasm always conspired to finish him off much sooner than he'd have liked. He'd been on the edge for a while now, Jared having driven him insane by pinning him down and making tiny, incised cuts to the inside of his thighs before laving them clean with his tongue. He pulled his hand from Jared's mouth and gripped his hips, tried to still him, but Jared had other ideas. He started rolling his hips faster, riding Jensen like he would a cantering horse.  
“Jared! Jared, wait! I'm gonna, I can't – I'm so close, you're going to make me -”  
Jared smiled, pointed white teeth gleaming in the moonlight, dimples studding his cheeks.  
“Do it. Wanna feel you fill me up.”  
So Jensen did, driving up as hard and deep as he could before unloading in Jared's twitching hole. Jared threw his head back and Jensen was seized by the sudden and all consuming desire to sink his teeth into the creamy column of his throat.  
“You can,” Jared said, seemingly reading his mind. “You can bite.”  
Jensen thought about it. He had no idea how or indeed if drinking Jared's blood would alter him. One of these days maybe he'd pluck up the courage to find out, but for now he'd settle for the next best thing.

Flipping them, he spread Jared out on his back and settled between his thighs with his shoulders butted up underneath them. Jared's beautiful cock was resting heavily on his flat belly, leaking a dribble of clear fluid onto the taut skin. Jensen could smell it, mingled with his own release which was steadily seeping out of Jared's body. Jensen smiled and licked at the silky skin of the head, tasting a bitter, organic musk and salt, feeling it substantial and thick on his tongue. He set to work, sucking Jared in long, deep swallows, making sure to let him feel the delicious, underlying threat of a fang every now and then. The dark blood suffused just beneath the delicate skin, and Jensen rutted against the the mattress as he found himself hardening again at the thought of puncturing his lover there, drinking down a heady mix of his semen and a spurt of blood from the thick vein running the length of his pulsing shaft. Jared pulled lightly at his hair, and Jensen just had time to retract his fangs before he bucked up against his palate and sent four or five strong spurts sliding down Jensen's throat.  
“Your lips,” he murmured when he had recovered slightly. “Your mouth. You've no idea...”  
Jensen smiled, licked his lips and pulled himself up to rest his head on Jared's shoulder.

It was a luxury for them to have a room in a boarding house for a couple of days and they intended to make the most of it.  
“Don't get too comfortable. I have to fix the drapes before sun-up, make sure they're pinned down and cover the bed or you might wake cosied up to a piece of jerky!”  
“I'll do it in a minute,” Jensen said, sleepily.  
“Hey, I was thinking,” Jared said. “We should have a story for when we're traveling, so as not to raise suspicions.”  
“Oh?” said Jensen. “What did you have in mind?”  
“Maybe we could tell people we're brothers. Brothers who hunt. That way no one will question the fact we share rooms and get covered in animal blood from time to time.”  
Jensen snickered.  
“You really think anyone would believe that? Brothers? We look nothing alike.”  
“They'll believe it if you can stop eying me like you mean to devour me,” Jared said with a smirk.  
Jensen cuffed him lightly on the head and got up to fix the curtains. Before he shut out the moonlight, he quickly scanned the horizon for anything that could be the shadow of Jeffrey Dean Morgan, just like he did every night.  
“He's not coming, you know,” Jared said quietly, eavesdropping on his thoughts again.  
“How can you be so sure?”  
Jared shrugged.  
“Just a feeling. Call it faith.”  
Jensen shook his head.  
“Faith? It may have escaped your notice, but I'm fairly sure we're done with all that. It was all a lie. I am a monster. You are a monster. And sooner or later some righteous man – be it Morgan or another – will send us where we belong.”  
Jared smiled again, a smear of blood on his chin looking black in the low light.  
“Why is that amusing?” Jensen asked, making his way back to the bed. Jared cupped his face and stared into the amber-green irises, still radiant in the absence of light.  
“You still believe. And you're so determined to be punished. But all your life, you worshipped a God who sacrificed his son to save mankind. A son who bled and suffered and asked that his followers eat his body and drink of his blood in remembrance of him. I was just thinking, what if He doesn't mind what we are after all? You suffer. You spill your blood to give me life, and you bleed for my sins. My own personal savior. Is it really so different?”  
Jensen rolled his eyes and buried his face at Jared's shoulder.  
“How can you be so blasé? You really are a heathen.”  
“But you love me,” Jared whispered. “So for that, for this life – such as it is – for you, I'll take damnation. It seems a small price to pay.”

Jensen lay silent for a long time until finally he came to a decision. He crawled on top of Jared and swept the soft, chocolate-brown curls back towards his nape, leaving his throat exposed..  
“Yes,” he said. “Yes it is.”  
He let the razor-sharp fangs descend, and pressed his open mouth to his lover's neck.

 

 

 


End file.
